Duty
by Lostinthought92
Summary: Liam wonders how he could have fallen so far, watching Alistair storm the Landsmeet Chamber. -a short drabble, testing the waters-


Author's Note: This is my first leap into the Dragon age 'verse, and wow is this all sorts of scary.

Let's see, it started simply because my M!Mage, Liam Amell couldn't get over what happened at the Landsmeet. This is likely just the first of many, because Liam is an annoying prat who has a very guilty conscience.

Any and all feedback is welcome, anyway, enjoy!

"I guess I have no choice, do I? I'm leaving," Alistair declared, shoulders slumped and forlorn expression on his face.

"I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, Alistair" Anora replied primly.

Alistair's eyes darkened, before he turned to face the would-be Queen.

"You already got what you wanted, your murdering father has place among the Grey Wardens, what else could you want from me?" His voice hitched slightly, as he quirked an eyebrow at her.

Anora's words, made Liam's blood run cold.

"You're life unfortunately, so long as you live rebellions can be raised in your name. Our land cannot endure another civil war. I must call for your execution."

"No," Liam cut in, blue eyes flashing.

Anora glanced at the mage incredulously, obviously unaware of how close she was to being the target of an electric shock spell.

"You owe me a boon, Anora, Let him go."

She looked angry, but the glare Liam was giving her clearly spoke volumes of what would happen if his demand wasn't met.

"This is what you would ask?" She asked, giving Alistair a dirty look.

Liam didn't waver.

"Very well, though I think it a mistake." She continued disapprovingly. "Alistair, you may leave on the condition that you swear before this landsmeet that you renounce all claim to the throne, for yourself and all your heirs."

"That's what it'll take huh?" He asked bitterly, biting back a smirk. Liam could see it all written across his face. "Fine, I don't want anything to do with this place or any of you people," his cold gaze fell across the nobles, landing on Arl Eamon last of all. "Ever. I swear it."

"I didn't think it would end this way," he continued, turning amber eyes on Liam.

"You don't have to go," Liam pleaded, voice cracking in ways it hadn't done since he was a young apprentice, begging mercy.

"You heard Anora, I do," he paused, smirking slightly. "Or I get to join Duncan, nice, huh?"

Liam felt his throat tighten.

Alistair plowed on, eyes lit up in an almost hysterical haze, "Have fun ending the blight," he shrugged, "or whatever. I guess you made your decision, right?"

And before Liam could respond Alistair had uttered his final farewell, turned on his heel and left, straight out of the chamber and out of sight.

Everything afterward was a blur, the brusque speech Anora gave the rest of the landsmeet. Liam hardly paid it any attention.

How could he?

The image of Alistairs retreating form wasn't something that could be simply shacken, nor could the resigned almost hysterical glint in his eye.

Hunched shoulders, deft hands and a smirk that had no place being on Alistair Therin's face.

Liam had broken his best friend.

The room was quiet, Liam noted, of course there was a first time for everything. He supposed getting his comrades in arms to shut up was bound to happen at some point. Although he suspected it would only occur when a rather massive stunning spell was sent their way, but even then Liam was certain Oghren would at least be able to mumble a few curses.

They were seated in one of the usually disused rooms, to 'strategize' Zevran had said. Liam sat in one of the stooped chairs available at the edge of the table, hands clasped, and eyes trained to the woodwork of the table.

Nobody made a move to approach him, rather all kept their gazes quietly averted, even Morrigan seemed rather morose.

They all thought Liam must have lost his mind, and to be frank Liam somewhat agreed with them.

Why else would he have left the only other grey warden in all of Ferelden walk out the door?

Why would he allow Anora to claim the throne?

How could he single handedly maim and tarnish one of the few friendships he'd ever had?

How could he simply watch as his only real friend crumbled before him?

How could he betray him? Alistair, the Templar with a sense of humor. Alistair, the idiot that loved cheese and could share a good natured fart joke now and again. Alistair, who at the end of every scrimmage, covered in demonic ichor would grin anyway. Alistair, who would tell an absolutely horrid joke when things got heavy.

The answer shouldn't have been so simple. But it was.

Because Fereldan demanded it.

Ferledan demanded his duty be paid, he'd escaped one cage only to fly straight into another. He'd had to watch himself fall into the darkest of depths, force himself to make decisions that still kept him awake at night. He'd pilfered, lied and slaughtered through all of Ferelden. He'd surrendered every part of himself to do what had to be done.

He'd done his duty as a Grey Warden.

And now duty demanded he spare the man that left an army of thousands to die, enslaved his subjects, threatened the life of his own daughter, tortured and killed, and even led Jowan to the path of tranquility.

Duty demanded Loghain Mac tir make himself useful once again and take on the mantle of Grey Warden.

Duty, was a real bitch sometimes.


End file.
